with dandelions in your hair

and painted on your teeth,

cat scratch scars on both your arms

and holes in both your feet,

watcher, wanderer, flower child,

a gentle thing, you are;

though you can’t be tamed, your heart is not wild,

it’s more a warm domestic star.

lonesome you are, my flowery friend,

without a true home in your heart,

but though you think you walk on to the end

your journey is only a start.

so travel the forests, the skies, and the seas,

young nomad, old soul that you are,

with that snaggletoothed grin spread across your cheeks,

the earth’s very own domestic star.